


Hanna Frey

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:10:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: RootxShaw prompt- Established Relationship. It is the anniversary of the last time Root saw her friend Hanna alive, and so she has been sullen and depressed and un-Root like. Everyone has noticed, but Shaw is the only one that doesn't know about Hanna and is very concerned and worried about Root. Upset that Finch, John, and Fusco won't tell her what's wrong with her girlfriend, Shaw confronts Root at their apartment. Cue Root giving a very tearful explanation and Shaw comforting her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hanna Frey

_Three days in a row. Things had been this way three days in a row. Only,_  Shaw thinks, stepping into the abandoned subway terminal, welcoming the cool underground air on her balmy skin, _it’s been getting worse._

She’d awoken today alone. Stupefied at first, she felt a ripple of paranoia run down her spine, and immediately took the offense. Root was no where to be seen, her mobile left on the kitchen counter.  _Gone. Had something happened to her? Surely if she was leaving early she would have left at least something…_ Swallowing the anxious curiosity, she’d given Harold a call, always pleased out how collected her voice could sound in any situation. It was then that he told her Root was at the station.

Root had been uncharacteristically sullen the past few days, falling further and further into a pit of depression, dark walls keeping her thoughts from escaping her lips. _I’d noticed, of course,_  Shaw thinks, taking a silent step forward, _but I didn’t say anything._  Never one for the emotional side of things, Shaw had hoped it was a mindless thing, a fleeting there-one-day, gone-the-next occasion. But today, Shaw can feel the storm clouds casting off desolate winds from across the room, and knows there is more to this entirely.

Shaw continues her eerily quiet approach, then- deeming it foolish to sneak about- takes to normal steps, focusing on the echoing clicks of her heels. Anything except that look on Root’s face.

* * *

 

But it was Root, and she was Shaw; and no matter how much she fought it, Shaw could never avoid taking a glance at Root for long. And this glance she takes now is four worlds worth of heartbreak. As unattached as Shaw could be, she can’t even deny the sharp pang of grief that strikes her at seeing Root so hopeless.

She sits on the terminal’s only bench, heavy eyes fixed to a spot on the far wall, hands clasped together loosely in her lap, knees tight together with her shoulders drooped forward and her lower back grazing the bench’s backrest. She had never looked so small. So vulnerable.

Shaw thinks of the tall, fierce woman she knows so well, strong and powerful; then looks at the person before her, wondering if she actually knows her well at all. She’d never seen this side of Root before, and was set to never see it again, no matter what that might entitle.

“Hey,  _Eeyore_ ,” Shaw greets with a slight smile, features softer than she’d ever permit with anyone else around. She takes a seat beside Root, waiting for some sort of response, an acknowledgement of Shaw’s presence, but it never comes. Shaw gives Root a playful nudge with her shoulder, hoping to gain some of her attention. “What happened to my perky psycho?” She jokes.

Root gives her eyebrow the slightest raise, signalling her dry take to the humor, but still, she remains quiet. Shaw’s eyes narrow stubbornly. All the play in her voice leaves, and the leveled seriousness returns.

“Come on, Root, what’s going on?”

Root shakes her head absently, too consumed by her thoughts to do much else.  _Consumed…_ Shaw lets the word sit on her tongue as she looks Root up and down. She looks strung together and strung out, narrow and haunted. Shaw wonders about the last time she’s eaten anything decent. Rubbing her palms down the fronts of her black pant legs, Shaw stands, then comes before Root, hands on her hips with a scrutinizing glare. Root’s gaze never shifts, and the spot on the wall she looks at now becomes something just above Shaw’s stomach.

“Let’s grab something to eat,” Shaw prompts, looking down at her weary warrior. The curiosity of what’s going on in Root’s mind eats at her, and Shaw’s stomach grumbles at the thought of food. “We’ll call Harold on the way; see if he needs us for anything.” Still, Root remains distant, and with an irritated sigh, Shaw grabs Root’s wrists, pulling her to a standing position. Root feels like dead weight in Shaw’s grasp, but she stands on her own without any assistance.  _That’s a step in the right direction._

“Calling will not be necessary, Ms. Shaw,” Harold’s voice materializes from nowhere, and Shaw turns her head to look at him, hands still encircling Root’s wrists. He looks at her for a brief second, but his main focus is Root. At seeing her, his face becomes empathetic and kind- as it had been the last few days.

 _All of the boys, really_ , Shaw thinks. That was another mystery yet to be solved. For the past three days, Harold, John, and Lionel had been more than compassionate, building up protective walls around Root- walls Shaw seemed unable to breech. Harold kept his voice kind, like how you’d talk to an injured child. John was tentative, eye always watching her, putting a hand on her shoulder or giving her hand a supportive squeeze as he passed. The gestures, never escaping Shaw’s watch, always brought a seething resentment to her eyes. Lionel kept mostly quiet around Root, every quip and bust burrowed deep within him, standing vigil as if he were her security detail. _A teddy bear of a body guard_ , Shaw acknowledges bitterly,  _but still._

“And so is breakfast,” Harold continues. Shaw is sucked from her thoughts, and she turns completely to face him now, dropping her hands. “Mr. Reese has some coffee and a bagel for you in the car.”

 _There it is again,_  Shaw thinks with a hot temper, referring to the voice. Root looks to his eyes, and they seem to share some unspoken message. Bowing her head, Root begins to move past Shaw with a sort of depressed sluggishness, but Shaw sticks out a hand, and she stops.

“Wait, can I come with?” Shaw asks, more to Harold than Root. He gives her an odd look, a mixture of hard defiance and something close to terror.

“No.” He says shortly, then beckons Root forward. She slips past Shaw silently, Harold whispers a few inaudible words into her ear, and then she is gone.

______\ If Your Number’s Up /______

“Well, what the hell was  _that_?” Shaw spits, deciding that Root must now be out of hearing range. Harold looks over to her with exasperation in his deep, blue eyes.

“They have business to take care of,” Harold answers in that same, short voice, and something in Shaw finally snaps.

“What the hell’s the matter with you all?!” She bellows, stalking up to him with murder in her eyes. “You’re  _all_ acting off, taking care of Root like she’s some kind of kicked  _puppy_.”

Harold’s eyes shift to haughty condescension, and he shakes his head with sympathy and crudeness. “We’re only trying to protect her.”

“ _I_ do the protecting,” Shaw snarls in a deadly, low voice, lip pulling up and the heat in her eyes dialed up to inferno. She feels animal, infuriated and distrusted and savage with questions no one wants to answer. Any more wild, and she would’ve been growling.

But suddenly, she realizes how much she is showing, and stops. Her claws are re-sheathed, bared fangs held back in her mouth, eyes of a killer replaced by unreadable reason in a single blink. She straightens her back, chin lifted to look Harold in the eye. In all of it, his mixed expression hadn’t changed. _Stupid stupid stupid_ , Shaw drills herself internally, sick at how enraged she became. Tantrums would get her know where in this, and the fear tactic would never do anything to Harold- not with his own life being threatened, at least. Closing her eyes, she gives her head a tired shake.

“She’s  _my_ girlfriend, Harold, if anyone should be doing this ‘taking care’ stuff, it’s me.” When Shaw opens her eyes once more, she is slightly stunned to see the apologies written within Harold’s features.

“I know you’ve been trying,” he tells her quietly, and she fights the urge to spit.

“ _Trying_ isn’t getting me anywhere,” Shaw can’t help the heat that boils out with her words. “Maybe if you  _told_  me what was wrong I’d be able to-”

“I can’t tell you that,” he says to her, and she stops. Accusation in her eyes, her lips pull to a persistent purse.

“And why is that?”

He gazes at her evenly a moment, then sighs. Looking away, his eyes trail across the place Root had been sitting earlier in the day. “It is something only she has the authority to tell.”

His answer is cryptic, and it leaves Shaw wondering. _What could be so devastatingly awful that she couldn’t even tell me?_

______\ We’ll Find You /______

Shaw thought about it as she left the station. She thought about it as she roamed the New York City streets. She thought about it as the sunny heat pulled at her already sticky skin, and she thought about it as she passed by each food stand, too hot and too deep in thought to be hungry.

She thought about it as she called Reese; and Lionel. She thought about it as each told her, in their own ways, that it was not their tale to tell. She thought about it as she kicked pebbles across the ground. She thought about it as the sun began its descent below the skyline. She thought and she thought, but all it got her was a fried brain and aching calves.

 _What could it be?_  She thought for the seven thousandth time.  _Does it have to do with me? It might explain why everyone else knows._  Shaw thinks of something she could have done wrong. Their anniversary? The idea seemed futile to Shaw, but knowing Root, it would be meaningful without a doubt. But Shaw knew the date, and it wasn’t anytime near now.  _So what could it be?_

The last rays of sunlight filter across the busy streets, and she finds that her feet have taken her home. With a tired sigh, she begins towards the entrance, but stops mid-step. Quickly, she presses herself to the shadows, nothing but dark eyes peaking out to watch.

Shaw watches the car’s passenger door open, and the lanky figure of Root Groves step out. Her hands are folded over her upper arms, seemingly cold in the stifling heat. She closes the door, turns, and stops. Shaw takes in a sharp breath, Root’s gaze directed right at her; however, her eyes aren’t focused on Shaw at all. And then, Shaw hears a familiar man’s voice waft silently from the car, words dispersing into senseless noise just before reaching her. Root turns back around, leaning her elbows into the passenger window to speak back to him quietly. She tries to smile, fails, and then pulls back. She stands, waiting; the car drives away.

As Root goes to turn once more, Shaw presses herself further into the darkness, not wanting to be seen. She counts, slowly and steadily. At ten, she peels herself from the shadows, an inner flood of relief that Root is no where in sight. Smoothing down her shirt, she heads into their apartment building.

Her steps start out like feathers, but end like lead as she comes closer and closer to the door. Her curiosity drives her forward, but it also shoves her back.

 _How do you convince someone to tell you a secret?_ Shaw could think of a million ways. She smiles. _Let me rephrase: how do you_ nicely  _convince someone?_ There, she had no clue, and that is what held her in chains just outside of the apartment door. She wants to know, to help, but has no idea how to go about it.

Shaking her head, she fishes out her keys, then pushes open the door. Everything around her is still and silent, as if no one had entered in years. But Shaw knows better and- letting her body still- focuses on every sound and shift around her. Silent as death, she can finally hear something from within. It sounds like deep breaths, with a hiccup here and there, keyboard clicks, and the squeaking of couch cushions. Closing the door silently, Shaw heads for the living room.

She would never and could never be ready for what she finds.

Root lays across the couch, dark hair spilling over the couch headrest like a chocolate waterfall. Her chest rises and falls raggedly, as if she’s using everything she has not to cry. Her knees are bent up, allowing a laptop to rest on her thighs. The screen emits an eerie blue glow, and Shaw has to squint her eyes at first. As they adjust, she sees something odd on the screen.

A child.

Dark, curly hair past her shoulder blades; bright, space-warming smile on her face; purple backpack slung over her shoulder. There is someone beside her in a blue-yellow plaid shirt, but the photo cuts just before the other’s face. Root hits a few keys, and the photo shoots out of view, replaced by a black and white still of a newspaper article. Again, it is this same girl. Shaw leans in slightly, but only manages the title and a few words.

_‘14-Year-Old Girl Gone Missing’… Bishop Texas… Disappearance… Search… Eighth-grader…_

The screen changes again to a page of older photos. Photos of families and of friends, each person tied together by one constant: that girl.

 _Who is she?_  Shaw wonders, brow furrowing. _Is it someone Root knows? A little cousin or sister?_ Shaw feels an excited jolt run down her spine at the thought of Root having a family. She knew so little about Root’s past- who she was, where she was from- it seemed intoxicating to think there could be people who knew those very answers somewhere out there.

The screen swaps once more, this time to a childish computer game. Root hits the start button, skimming past directions, and heading out. Her movements are fluid and pre-calculated, as if she’s done this same thing a hundred times.

Shaw gives a throat clearing cough, and Root jumps up, laptop slamming shut and back going extremely tense.

“You alright?” Shaw asks, coming to her side. Her movements are cautious, knowing one wrong step could cause Root to explode.

“Fine.”

She takes a seat beside Root- Root’s taut back still facing her- and lets her head rest on Root’s shoulder. Root seems to relax at the touch, and her stiffness unwinds, letting her back curve into a lazy slouch.

“Who was she?” Shaw asks, reaching around Root to tap the top of the laptop. Root pushes it onto the coffee table like it is poison, shoving it far away like it is repulsive to even look at.

At first, Shaw doesn’t think Root will answer. But, after a minute in silence, Root pushes away from Shaw, turning her body to sit normally on the couch, hands in her lap and eyes on her hands. She swallows hard, and Shaw watches her, intrigued. In a small voice, Root answers.

“Hanna Frey.”

_____\ Hanna Frey /_____

“ _Who_?” Shaw asks, not knowing the name in the slightest. She wracks her brain for any recollection, but turns up empty handed.

“Hanna… Hanna Frey.” Root’s voice is hollow, eyes large and haunted. “She was… my best friend.” The words barely escape her lips, so silent they are nothing but ghosts in the air. Shaw thinks back to that article she saw on the screen, _'14-Year-Old Gone Missing.’_

“Is this the, uh, anniversary of her..?”

“Disappearance?” Root offers with a bitter hint to her voice. “Yeah.”

Shaw nods, unsure what to say. Luckily, her words are unnecessary.

“She was-  _taken_ -.. when we were in eighth grade. We were at the library, and she was playing Oregon Trail. Simple game but…” Root looks up to the laptop, voice seeming to fail her. “She couldn’t get it. I- I stayed after her to beat it.”

“And that’s the last time you saw her?” Shaw asks. Root shakes her head, closing her eyes tight, trying to push out the vivid memory.

“If I’d just  _left_ with her, I could have walked her home,” Root says with a pain Shaw has never heard. It’s worse than any bullet wound or punch to the jaw; this pain is raw and untamed. Years and years of hurt growing into an unbearable weight on her shoulders. “But I  _didn’t_.” Root’s voice hardens startlingly, and Shaw watches Root’s hand come to her cheek, rubbing away what Shaw can only assume is a tear. “I let her get in a car and drive away. And that’s the last time I saw her. Well, almost.”

Shaw gives her a quizzical stare, and Root finally looks Shaw in the eye. It sends a shiver down Shaw’s spine and a dagger through her heart. There is such bitter coldness in her gaze, but more than that there is overwhelming hurt and loss. A sea of despair raging in her stormy eyes. Root swallows the lump in her throat and picks up once more.

“I see her all the time,” Root whispers. “When I close my eyes, when I sleep; I can never get her out of my head.” There is such a guilt in Root’s words that Shaw can’t help but let her head droop to the side sympathetically.

“This isn’t your fault, you know,” Shaw tells her, hoping to help. But it seems to have the opposite effect.

Eyes on fire and lip curling into a sneer, Root spits, “She was my  _best_ friend, and I  _watched_ her get kidnapped. Tell me how that is  _not_ my fault! I could have done- done  _something_ \- to help her! But I did nothing.  _Nothing_.” The tears are hot and thick on Root’s cheeks, and Shaw can’t bear the sight of them. With anyone else, she would have told them to toughen up; grow a set. But this is Root, one of the strongest people she knows, crying on a couch in the dark, more alone than Shaw could have ever realized.

Without thinking, Shaw pulls Root in, wrapping one arm tightly around Root’s waist, using the other to rub her back. Shaw can feel the shoulder of her shirt growing soggy, and draws Root in tighter.

“Hey,  _hey_ ,” Shaw says quietly into Root’s hair, trying to calm her down. She can only hope her tone is soothing. “You never could have known.”

“I told the librarian,” Root mumbles almost incoherently into Shaw’s shoulder. Her body trembles against Shaw in a whirlwind of anguish and rage. “She told me to keep quiet.” Shaw closes her eyes tight, the words feeling like swift blades to the chest. She runs her hand through Root’s disheveled hair, fingers catching here and there on the tangled snarls. “Got the guy who took her arrested, too,” Root continues in that same, numb, mechanical way. “Not for that, but-”

“But nothing,” Shaw stops her mid-sentence. “And  _you_ said you did nothing. That  _is_ something.” Shaw thinks she can feel Root nodding, but hearing the sniffle, isn’t quite sure. A silence falls over them, and Shaw continues to think, hand still rising and falling on Root’s back.

“Are you still looking for her?” Shaw asks.

“She’s dead.” The words are thick on Root’s tired lips, never wanting to say them, but too exhausted to skirt around it. Shaw feels Root’s hands sliding around her waist, fingers balling up the fabric of Shaw’s shirt tight in a fist. “John’s the one who- who put it- her case- to rest.” Shaw thinks of a kid Root, losing her best friend, not having any closure for years.  _And then, after all that time, all that possibility that she could be somewhere…_

“I should’ve told you sooner, I guess.” Root’s voice cuts into Shaw’s thoughts as Root pulls away.

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Shaw agrees, but there is a playing smile on her face. “That way you could’ve talked it out sooner.” Root gives her a short smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey,” Shaw says, leaning in. She kisses Root softly on the forehead before bringing her eyes even to Root’s. “I’m here for you.”

This time, Root smiles. It’s wide, and her eyes glisten once more. _God, I’m a sap,_  Shaw scolds herself, but her anger is only half-hearted. _I can go back to being a hard-ass next week_ , she decides, pushing herself to sit behind Root; arms wrapping around her waist and chin on her shoulder.

“What game were you playing?” Shaw asks her, giving a small gesture to the computer.

“Oregon Trail,” she replies near sheepish, and Shaw lets the name sink in.

“Teach me?” Shaw says with the hint of a question. “I suck at computer stuff. But you know that.” A small laugh escapes Root’s lips as she leans forward, pulling the laptop towards her. Opening it, the game pops up once more on screen, starting title back in place. Shaw can feel the heaviness of her eyes, not realizing how tired she was from walking all day until now.

“The game is set up where all the levels are the same,” Root begins to explain. “Only, after you get to a certain checkpoint, one more opponent is…” Shaw gets lost in Root’s voice, letting the sound envelop her as her eyes slowly close. “How am I supposed to  _teach_ you if you aren’t paying  _attention_?” The sharper tone causes Shaw to start, and her eyes almost open.

“Okay, you play, and I’ll watch,” Shaw mutters back, pushing her chilled nose into the side of Root’s neck. She hears the sharp intake of Root’s breath at the touch, her pulse growing faster, and Shaw smiles.

“With your eyes closed?” Root asks with humored skepticism. Shaw’s arms tighten slightly around Root’s waist, fatigue pulling her away. Groggily, she remembers replying,

“With my eyes closed.”


End file.
